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I realized the other day that I’ve run nine half marathons. It is the distance I’ve raced the most too, by a factor of at least 2:1 in most cases.

I can recall when the half was my Big Goal, the frightening distance I had to train for over a period of months, and worry over being able to complete without falling apart. I also recall a time when racing one would completely obliterate me, meaning I’d have to go back to a hotel room and nap for two or three hours before I could function again.

Now, a half marathon is still a substantial effort, but it’s just another race. In fact, it’s a shorter race these days, what with a 25K on Sunday (a training run) and a 30K (all out race) at the end of the month. Racing 13.1 miles becomes a relatively low key proposition when you’re about to race 18.6.

Very soon, I hope to be able to put away a half in under 1:30, then hop in the car, drive 1.5 hours home, and still be able to carry on a semi-coherent conversation that very same afternoon. Or at least I’ll be attempting this feat in early May.